Give Up All Desires
by eirenical
Summary: Claude's eyes locked gazes with the younger boy, asking questions for which Berger had no answers, questions which Berger wouldn't even have thought to ask. And with Berger's each successive failure to respond, he felt Claude slip a little further away.


OK, OK, I know it's coming, so I'll say it first: I'm baaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaack! ;D With a vengeance, no less. And I've been busily at work these last many months, stoking my Hair inspiration back into a blaze. And oh, dear Lord, the tour is helping like you wouldn't believe. Steel and Paris have been _most_ inspiring. ^_~ Anyway, I'm done with viewings until June, but then I will have 10 glorious weeks of Hair back in NYC... and I intend to be there. Often. Very often. ^_^

Anyway, so... yeah. In other news... Apparently I'm writing smut, now. O_O;;; I wrote Tasuki and Nuriko their promised fic and they seemed fairly satisfied, so after seeing the Hair Tour this weekend (#9!) and the glorious love that is Steel and Paris' Berger and Claude... *deadpan* ...let's just say I was inspired. When I got home, I immediately had fic thoughts in my head, because holy cow, the scene before the Be-In... Josh and Paris were killing me yesterday. Killing. Me. O_O I haven't felt that compulsive a need to fic for Hair and not stop until it's done since, well... since _Where Do I Go?_, I think. *coughs* Anyway, so, I sat down to write that fic which was to be full of angsty goodness... and, well... wrote this instead. It's still full of angsty goodness and it takes a few liberties with that scene... *coughs* ...but now there's at least porn to go along with the angst. As this is my first publicly posted NC-17 story... any input you guys have would be appreciated. Really. *blush* *runs away*

**Title:** Give Up All Desires **  
>Fandom:<strong> Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival/Tour **  
>Pairing:<strong> Claude/Berger  
><strong>Rating:<strong> **NC-17** - please, if it's illegal to read this where you are... just don't, OK? If you do, I take no responsibility for it. **  
>Word Count:<strong> 3,549 **  
>Warnings:<strong> Slash (and holy cow, I really mean it this time), angst

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta-. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Summary:** Claude's eyes, now as dilated as Berger's, locked gazes with the younger boy, asking questions for which Berger had no answers, questions which Berger wouldn't even have thought to ask. And with Berger's each successive failure to respond, he felt Claude slip away from him a little more.

**_May 1, 2011:_** Let's see... in spite of this having a song track title, this is really just a PWP. It was inspired half by the Tour and half by the OBRC so it doesn't fit specifically into either fic universe timeline - or I suppose I could more accurately say that it fits in both. How about we call it a stand alone, shall we? ^_^

Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!

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><p><strong>Give Up All Desires<strong>  
><em>by Renee-chan<em>

Berger couldn't believe it. Berger _wouldn't_ believe it, even though he was seeing it with his own eyes. He'd arrived late to the Be-In, already strung out and more than a little frantic for not finding Claude. Sheila could believe what she wanted, could bury her head in the sand and shut out the smaller picture of what was happening right in front of her in favor of the larger one if she wanted, but Berger didn't have that luxury. Not when he could feel Claude slipping further and further away with every breath he took. And now _this_.

The only thing that kept Berger from charging over and causing a scene was the knowledge of how that would hurt Claude. And he wouldn't do anything to hurt Claude, especially not on purpose... especially not now. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Claude's mother and father were standing in _his_ park, surrounded by _his_ Tribe, spewing their own brand of verbal poison as far as it would go. The only thing that kept Berger away, that kept him silent, was the knowledge that if Claude's parents were _here_, then they weren't harassing Claude. If they were here, then _they_ didn't know where Claude was, either. So, Berger ignored their empty, soulless words as best he could and focused on scanning the crowd for Claude. The other boy _had_ to be here. He'd not have let his parents come here without following them. But where was he?

Finally, Berger spotted him. He was standing in the shadows cast by the fire, eyes haunted, afraid, bruised... and so, so tired. Berger's heart gave a hard thump in his ribcage as he took an involuntary step towards the older boy. That look... G-d, that look was going to kill him if he couldn't get it off Claude's face. He took another step.

And then he heard them, the last words that Claude's father spoke. They rose above the babble of the Tribe's chanting voices, rang clear and loud as a bell in that wide open space under the sky. And each one struck through Claude's heart like an arrow. Berger could see the impact of them as each successive one thrust home, as Claude's eyes grew colder, more anguished with every blow.

"My son doesn't like me! He... he doesn't like me. But he is willing to go to Viet Nam and die for his country, and **I am proud of him!**"

As those final five words reached their target, Claude took a step forward of his own, held a hand out in entreaty towards the distant figure of his father. Reaching, reaching... but not touching, never touching. As Claude's father collected his wife and stormed her away from the Tribe in disgust, Claude finally made a noise... and it was a noise like something dying. Berger's heart made the same noise in response... because the minute he heard it, he knew. He knew he was going to lose this fight. He was going to lose Claude.

**No.** No... that couldn't be. It _couldn't_. He stepped forward then, into the dancing firelight, and grabbed Claude's outstretched hand, gave him something real, something solid, to touch, to hold on to. He pulled Claude to him, took that trembling body in his arms, smoothed a hand down his hair, his back, tried to tell him by touch that he didn't need his father's pride, didn't need his father's approval or love... because he had Berger's.

The tremors in that fine frame slowed, finally stopped, and a tentative hand came up to rest against Berger's back, to stroke and soothe in return. Claude's mouth was moving, gusting air against the bare skin of Berger's chest, spelling words that Berger couldn't understand and didn't want to pull away long enough to try. That must have come through, though, that lack of understanding, for Claude grew frustrated, ended the one-sided conversation with a snap of his teeth against the underside of Berger's chin. Now _that_ was a language Berger understood.

Eyes dilated with residual fear and feral with desperation, Berger grabbed the back of Claude's neck, pulled his head just far enough away to return the favor of that love bite. Claude gasped, arched against him, started spewing again those senseless words, even as his hands clutched harder at Berger's arms. The conflicting responses battered at Berger's tenuous hold on reality, cracked what little control he had left and he lifted Claude from the ground, slammed him hard against the tree behind him.

Claude let out another gasping cry, wrapped his legs around Berger's waist. Better. That was better. Berger understood that. Berger pushed irritably at Claude's shirt, unable to free both hands from supporting Claude's weight to pull it off of him. Claude's eyes, now as dilated as Berger's, locked gazes with the younger boy, asking questions for which Berger had no answers, questions which Berger wouldn't even have thought to ask. And with Berger's each successive failure to respond, he felt Claude slip away from him a little more.

Desperate with the need to get Claude speaking a language he could understand, Berger pressed closer, clamped his teeth around the junction of Claude's neck and shoulder, sucked as hard as he could even as he rocked his growing arousal against Claude's. And for a moment - just a moment - Claude was back with him, hearing his words, answering in kind. He grasped the bottom of his shirt, pulled it up over his head, dropped it carelessly to the ground beside them.

Behind him, Berger heard the low, steady thrum of the Tribe's chanting, a swell of supportive sound, a wailing plea to the unfeeling gods to let this offering be enough, to not take away their Aquarius in their hour of greatest need. Berger all but shook with it, the cry of desperation that was locked in his own throat spewed forth in mighty chorus by the voices behind him. In silence, he begged, Please... please... please... If Claude couldn't hear _his_ words, please... let him hear theirs.

Claude folded over him then, fingers threaded through Berger's hair as he pressed their lips together. Claude's tongue made a slow pass across Berger's lips, teasing them open so that he could slip it inside. Berger groaned, opened his mouth to twine his own tongue with Claude's, telling him as clearly as he could with that kiss how very much he was needed, how very much he was loved. Claude let out a moan of his own, whimpered into the kiss as those words penetrated, broke away to bury his face against Berger's shoulder.

Claude was hearing Berger's words, but he wasn't listening, was stuffing his fingers in his ears and closing his eyes to keep those words at bay. He didn't want to see, didn't want to know, didn't want anything to complicate this decision... which told Berger in clearer language than any words that the decision had already been made. And Claude slipped a little further away.

No.

No.

NO.

Berger surged forwards again, pressed Claude hard into the rough bark of the tree, ignored the pained noise Claude made in response. He would _make_ Claude understand. He would make sure the other boy heard him... whether Claude wanted to or not. Claude's hands made restless motions on Berger's shoulders, alternating clutching him closer and pushing him away, indecisive like always. With a low growl of irritation, Berger leaned back just long enough to grab Claude's wrists, forced them up over his head. Using the weight of his body and this new grip, Berger held Claude pinned against the tree, captive to the assault he lavished against the other boy's chest with lips and tongue.

Each lick, each nibble, each nip and suckle pleaded his case, promised worship and adulation in spades, if only Claude would reconsider his decision, would stay with him... would live. Claude arched against him, cried out under the force of Berger's repeated pleas, desperate to shut his ears against them and unable to do so, trapped as he was. He tossed his head back and forth, eyes shut against the glow of the firelight, the stomping, rhythmic dance of his Tribe in front of him, urging Berger on, stomping their own pleas into the ground as though to stomp them into Claude's heart where they couldn't be ignored.

Claude whimpered, overwhelmed by that surge of emotion, drowning in that sea of desperate need, aching for something to hold onto but finding nothing but empty air. He jerked his hands against Berger's hold, words tumbling from his lips, broken into pieces as they fell, jumbled together into a nonsense of begging: begging Berger for more, for release, to _be_ released... begging Berger to let him go.

But Berger couldn't hear... didn't hear... didn't _want_ to hear. Abandoning the attempt at words, Claude bucked against Berger, able to bend just far enough forward to capture Berger's lips with his own, bit down almost harshly on one as it came within reach. Berger snarled in response, nothing left of sanity in his gaze, but Claude could feel the difference in the way those hands held his wrists, could feel it as Berger absorbed his meaning, understood the yielding in Claude's body as a surrender to his desires, to his need.

As Berger relaxed his grip on Claude's wrists, Claude lowered his hands to Berger's shoulders, this time merely to push the unbuttoned, white shirt from them to join his on the ground. Sensing the change, the shift in Claude's response, the chanting before him grew louder, the Tribe's words a glad cry of triumph as they, too, understood that relinquishing of control. Their bodies glistening with sweat, the Tribe danced faster, driven into a whirling frenzy by the need to hold onto their Aquarius, their guide.

Claude threw his head back, taking in huge gasps of air as Berger went back to work with lips and tongue, mapping every piece of Claude's skin that he could reach, even as his hands went to work lower, unbuttoning Claude's jeans and tugging at them in frustration. Momentarily defeated, Berger pressed his face into Claude's chest, pained sounding pants emerging from his lips. Claude cradled Berger's head against his chest, shivered as those breaths ghosted across his abdomen in ragged need. Eventually, he unwound his legs from Berger's waist, slid slowly to the ground. Berger didn't even try to hold him, just stood there shaking, defeat written in his very posture.

The steps of the dance faltered, one or two of the Tribe stumbling to a halt, chant dying on their lips as they watched the pair. Claude stood silent, staring over Berger's shoulder at the haunted array of eyes circling the bonfire, more and more steps crashing to a halt as he stood frozen. It was Woof, hazel eyes fierce and demanding, more feral than Berger could ever hope to be, that jolted Claude out of his paralysis. Woof tipped back his head and howled out Berger's pain, his anguish, to the night sky. Another voice took up the call and another and another. Claude recognized Jeanie, Dionne, Hud and Paris, Suzanne, Jackie and Walter. Hesitant and filled with a pain of her own, he even heard Sheila answer that cry.

And Claude could not keep still under the force of that pain any longer. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his face against Berger's groin, the now softened mound of flesh between his legs. Reaching up, he unbuttoned Berger's jeans, pulled them down almost reverently over his hips. Turning back, Claude pressed a kiss to Berger's inner thigh, gently nuzzled his way up Berger's leg. And when his lips closed on the head of Berger's dick, slid hot and moist down to the base, Woof's howl changed tone, sang out a note of pure joy and love. The Tribe answered, once again began stamping their feet in that pounding rhythm, urging Claude on as he suckled at Berger's hardening flesh. Berger's hand found its way into Claude's hair, rested warm and strong against the back of Claude's head as Claude clutched Berger to him, let the actions of his lips and tongue speak for him as he again begged Berger to let him go.

As though he heard that unspoken plea, Berger jerked in Claude's hold, nearly choked him with that unexpected movement. He pulled away, green eyes hard and angry as they met Claude's. Claude tried to lean back in, wanted Berger's dick back in his mouth, desperate to regain the one line of contact by which he'd managed to make himself understood. Berger was having none of it, pulled Claude back to his feet and pushed him against the tree, again. Before Claude could even open his mouth to protest, Berger had stepped out of his own jeans and finished the job of pulling Claude's off of him.

Woof's wild howl sounded again, the older boy stripping off his own clothes as he stared over the flames, eyes daring Claude to make even one noise of objection. Claude could make none. Instead he watched as Woof lifted his draft card, used it to make the sign of the cross over his chest and dropped it deliberately into the fire. The Tribe screamed in ecstasy as that first card burned, wheeled their circle to revolve around Woof as he danced in the glow of the firelight, eyes never leaving Claude's as he moved.

Berger slid his arms around Claude again, lifted him back into place against the tree. Transfixed by the sight of Woof and his wild dance of freedom, Claude could do nothing but wrap his legs back around Berger's waist, brace his hands against the tree to help support what little of his weight that he could. Berger lifted his right hand, pressed two fingers against Claude's mouth and he opened for them, suckled them as though his life depended on it. Still, his tongue whispered, Let me go... Berger... let me go.

Berger pulled his fingers away, replaced them with his mouth. Taking advantage of the open position of Claude's lips, Berger plunged his tongue inside, communicated his own pleas as he pressed against Claude's tongue, licked into his mouth, I love you... I need you... Don't leave me... LIVE.

The chanting swelled behind them, growing louder and louder as card after card was consigned to the fire, as boy after boy stripped off their clothes in a declaration of freedom, of solidarity, of their own pleas for Claude to stay. And as the last card dropped into the fire, Hud's dark eyes glowing in triumph, Berger slid those two fingers into Claude, hard, fast, no warning. Claude broke their kiss, cried out at the sudden penetration. The Tribe answered, resumed their stomping dance, chanting growing louder and louder as Berger's fingers pressed deeper, seeking that spot, that one spot where Claude would not be able to shut his ears to Berger's pleas, where Claude would be forced to listen, to hear.

Claude arched against Berger, squirmed restlessly in his hold, fraught with the need to keep Berger from finding that spot, knowing that he would be helpless to ignore those pleas if he did... knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, even so. Knowing what Claude was doing, how he was trying to avoid him, even now, Berger growled again, pulled his fingers free from Claude's body.

The move was so unexpected, it left Claude feeling empty, hollowed out and even more desperate than before. Berger was gone, had left him, wouldn't even _look_ at him. Claude darted his eyes back over Berger's shoulder, watched the spiraling dance before him, met one pair of eyes after another, felt that growing wave of love cresting over the fire-lit clearing. And then he saw Sheila. Blonde hair turned red-gold by the flames, her blue eyes a hotter fire than any flame could hope to be, she locked gazes with him, pinned him more effectively than even Berger had when he'd held Claude's wrists. And as she held his gaze locked with her own, froze him in that moment of pained longing, she grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head in one smooth move that left her as naked as the men around her.

And as she dropped her dress to the ground, her lips quirked in an almost evil smirk, Berger lined up his dick, slick again with saliva, against Claude's opening, slowly started pressing inside. And though every instinct in Claude was screaming to push him away, to stop him from making that connection, to keep him from speaking those pleas again and again and again until Claude was _forced_ to hear them... Sheila's eyes kept him pinned, unable to voice that protest.

Claude whimpered, trapped between Berger and the tree, between the needs of his Tribe and his parents' wishes... between his sense of duty and his own desires. Unable to be still in that place a moment more, Claude dropped his head to Berger's shoulder, pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to whatever spot he could reach. The women of the Tribe, one by one, followed Sheila's suit, stripping out of their clothes and then stepping back into a dance that became less of a dance with each step, as pairs of dancers found each other and started dancing their own rhythms, answering the thrusts and soft cries of their leader and his guide as each tried futilely to make himself heard to the other over the continued chanting.

Claude slammed himself down to meet Berger's thrusts as best he was able, no longer concerned with what he might hear, just urgently needing that connection to Berger, needing to fill that emptiness with the soul of his friend. Berger picked up the pace, thrust up hard into Claude and finally, _finally_, reached that spot. And as Berger drove into him again and again and again, sent wave after wave of cresting pleasure coursing through him, Claude broke down and cried. Because in each one of those thrusts, he could hear words, clear and concise as a bell tolling: Berger's pain, Berger's need... Berger's love. Tears mingling on their lips as Claude bent to press them together once more, he answered that love in kind, made promise after promise that, in his heart, he knew he couldn't keep... that he knew he _wouldn't_ keep. And he wept harder.

The Tribe's voice started stuttering to a halt once more, preoccupied with their own pleasures and Claude shivered as, one by one, their voices abandoned him, dropped away. Still there was Berger, endlessly speaking of his love and devotion, trying to fill a void that even he couldn't hope to fill alone. Berger pressed into him again and again and again and Claude cried out, pushed unwilling to his own orgasm, at last. And as he clenched around Berger, the other boy also let out a choked cry, buried his face in the crook of Claude's neck, shaking with the force of his answering release.

Slowly, they came down, back to the real world. The clearing was turning cold as the sweat dried on their skin, their clothes were trampled into the dirt under their feet. The fire was almost out now, having burned off all of its fuel and the rest of the Tribe was slowly sitting up, blinking the haze from their eyes, lost without that connection they'd shared so profoundly tonight and yet so briefly.

Berger slid from Claude's body with a shudder, couldn't quite meet his eyes as he lowered the older boy to the ground, as he gathered up Claude's clothes to hand to him. They dressed in silence, all the necessary words already spoken and finally heard. Sheila turned from her own dressing, took a step closer to the pair, then seemed to think better of it, turned herself into Dionne's waiting embrace, instead, for once at a loss for words.

No... it was Jeanie who stepped forwards, intruded on that awkward moment of silence between Claude and Berger. She stepped up to Claude, took his hand in hers and rested it against her rounded belly. As he stared at that hand, touched that tiny spark of life within her, Jeanie tucked a finger under his chin, leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. And in that kiss was more understanding than Claude could handle. He broke away from her with a soft cry, body trembling with the need to runrunrun.

He had to get away before they changed his mind, before they reminded him that they loved him between them a thousand times more than his parents ever could, before they convinced him that his was a life worth saving, worth living... before he fell into the love in Berger's eyes and couldn't escape. Ignoring the stricken look that Berger shot his way, Claude spun away from he and Jeanie and sprinted off into the park as fast as his legs could carry him. And the words his feet beat into the ground as he ran were full of a thousand regrets... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Berger I'm _so_ sorry... I love you.

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><p><strong>AN:**

R-chan: *shuffles feet nervously*

Claude: *gapes*

Berger: *stares*

R-chan: *sweatdrop*

Claude: *twitch*

Berger: *opens mouth to talk, then shuts it again* *hmphs*

R-chan: Oh, come **on**! Say something already, would you? *blushes harder*

Claude: I... I... *waves hands uselessly in the air* *gives up, makes a frustrated noise*

R-chan: *little voice* Was it really that bad?

Berger: Well, it wasn't... I mean, the sex was... *makes a face*

R-chan: *sob* It _was_ that bad. I **told** you I suck at writing smut but you wouldn't believe me!

Claude: *sweatdrop* Oh, no. No, that wasn't it. The sex was... it was... that wasn't the problem.

R-chan: *hopeful eyes* No?

Claude: *glares at the chibi, finally explodes with* Why is it that even when you write me sex, you have to write me angry, heart-rending, angsty sex, huh? Why the hell can't I have fluffy sex? _What the hell did I ever do to you?_ *huffs*

R-chan: *blink* *blinkblink* *slowly straightens* Oooooooooh, so thaaaaaaaaaaaat's you're problem. Oh, well, in that case... *snorts* Beggars can't be choosers, buddy. *tosses hair, walks off*

Claude: *gapes*

Berger: *grabs Claude and shushes him* Don't. Just don't. Once she's more comfortable with it, I'm sure she'll write us fluffy sex... and if you don't watch it, she'll decide that that means one of us needs to be in a cat suit or something.

Claude: *stares at Berger* *blushes*

Berger: Come on, tell me you think I'm wrong.

Claude: *hangs head* *sighs* No... you're probably right. That's what scares me. *shudders*

Berger: *nods sagely* Indeed.

_Questions, comments, pickle?_

Nuriko: *snickers* Pickle? Really? Why not a banana?

Tasuki: *snerts* Well, pickle is somewhat more euphemistic.

Nuriko/Tasuki: *both laugh*

Claude: *glares* I really hate you two right now.


End file.
